


Midwinter Festival

by Miss_Em



Series: Times Merlin Wasn't Warm Enough [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 20:39:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3147869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Em/pseuds/Miss_Em
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"His ears got cold first, then his fingers, but the worst was his neck. Merlin clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering and tried to think about food, about his mother, about his magic book, about anything beyond how cold he felt and how much he wished he had his neckerchief."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midwinter Festival

Merlin’s new boots were _brilliant_. The leather was thick enough to keep out the wet, but flexible enough to be easy to walk in, unlike his boots from Ealdor which for the first six months had made him walk as if he had buckets on his feet. The cobbler made them with buckles all over, so that he could loosen them to fit more pairs of socks, or tighten them in the summer. With three pairs of socks on, he could be out in the tiltyards with Arthur for half the morning before his feet even began to be cold. It was wonderful.  
  
As the days grew shorter, the castle grew busier with preparations for the Midwinter Festival. Lords came from the outlying regions, many of them with what seemed like whole households of family and servants, and guest rooms had to be prepared for them and luggage hauled upstairs. All sorts of food that had just been stored away for the winter had to be brought out for the cooks to start making mincemeat and pastry and spiced cakes and mulled wine. There were extra dishes to unpack, and extra tables to haul down from the attics, and so many extra horses and hounds in residence that some of them had to stay in the courtyard. Much more of this than Merlin would have expected turned out to be his concern in one way or another. And at the same time he still needed to serve Arthur (who seemed to always be changing from armor to formal clothing and back again) and to help Gaius (who was already beginning to be busy with winter fevers, and frostbite, and the twinging old wounds of aging knights, nobles, and peasants.) It was a huge relief when finally, the evening before the feast, the work was done and Merlin could sit quietly by the fire in Arthur’s room, rubbing grease into Arthur’s boots while Arthur cracked nuts and lazily read through the accounts of tribute brought by the lords.  
  
“Do you still have the livery?” Arthur asked, after they’d been sitting in companionable silence for some time.  
  
“Do I have what?”  
  
“The livery I gave you before the feast with Bayard. You weren’t sick on it or anything, after you were poisoned?” Arthur cracked a walnut and flicked it at Merlin.  
  
“N-no... Gwen washed everything, anyway, and I think it’s in my room still.” Merlin caught the nut and pulled the meat from it with his teeth. “Why?” He threw the shell into the fire.  
  
“Because you’ll need to _wear_ it tomorrow, you oaf! Unless you need a new set, in which case you’ll need to see the seamstresses early.” Arthur cracked another nut, ate half of it himself, and tossed the other half to Merlin.  
  
Merlin fumbled it. “That? But it... that was summertime,” he protested. He’d felt exposed enough having his neck bare in July; in December it would be miserable. And he’d have almost nothing on his chest...  
  
“You won’t be _outside_ in it. You won’t even have to go back and forth to the kitchens. And there will be braziers everywhere. More likely you’ll be overheated; I usually am.”  
  
Merlin thought of the great hall, where no sunlight ever penetrated and where the stone walls were usually sweating with damp chill, and tried not to laugh. “Overheated?”  
  
“I _mean_ it about the braziers! And there are hundreds of candles, too... it’s a festival of _light_ , after all. Between the flames and the wine - and you hopping about to keep the wine coming, don’t forget - you’ll be glad to not be in your ridiculous little _jerkin_.”  
  
“Yes, sire,” Merlin said skeptically.  
  
“Oy.” Arthur threw an almond at him. “Do we need to have that conversation about _respect_ again? Anyway, if you’re cold you can wear the cloak.”  
  
“Yes, sire.”

 

***

 

Arthur was right about there being a lot of braziers, but they were all in the center of the hall, and the tables and the nobles’ high-backed chairs blocked most of the heat from the servants. At the back of the dais the stone floors still struck up cold, even though Merlin wore all his socks, and there was a wicked draft that seemed to find him no matter where he stood. The cloak helped a little bit, but it sat too low on his shoulders to protect his neck and too wide in the front to cover his chest. Arthur drank a good deal of wine, but keeping his cup filled didn’t require more than taking a few steps two or three times in an hour. And the feast lasted many, many hours. There was a procession and a ceremony for seating everyone, and then a toast, and some savory pies, and then all the lords, in order of prominence, had to come make their oaths of fealty to Uther, and separately to acknowledge Arthur as Crown Prince, and Arthur and Uther both had to answer them, and then Morgana had to give each lord a gift for _his_ household. Merlin was tired and cold before the proper feast part of the evening even began.  
  
His ears got cold first, then his fingers, but the worst was his neck. Merlin clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering and tried to think about food, about his mother, about his magic book, about anything beyond how cold he felt and how much he wished he had his neckerchief. Or the nice woolly muffler his mum had knitted for him. Or both.  
  
Gwen kept shooting him anxious little looks from her post behind Morgana’s chair. She was wearing her heavier shift and the red surplice, nothing more, but she didn’t seem to be cold except when the draft was strongest, and then she just rubbed her arms for a moment. By the time the sweets were brought out Merlin couldn’t even get his fingers warm in his armpits - not that he could try that for long, with so many eyes on the head table. Merlin was glad when Arthur rose from the table for the last time and he could fall in behind him and some of the younger nobles, who seemed intent on... something, maybe gaming, maybe more wine. Merlin was just glad to be moving.  
  
“Merlin!” Arthur seemed surprised when Merlin popped up right at his elbow. “Oh. Well done. We’re going to go hunting tomorrow, so bring my bath early, will you? And that will be all for tonight. Go on down to the kitchens and get yourself something good.”  
  
“Yes, sire, thank you, sire.” Merlin bobbed under the ridiculous hat and gratefully let all the nobles sweep away.

 

***

 

“Merlin!” Gaius pounded on the door. “Merlin, wake _up_ or you’ll have no time for breakfast!”  
  
“‘m up!” Merlin shouted, without moving. It felt like midnight, but opening one eye a slit proved that Gaius was, unfortunately, not raving. There was sunlight on the ceiling. Merlin groaned and reluctantly began to untangle himself from the bedclothes, which he’d augmented with the cloak from his livery. He’d fallen into bed without doing more than removing his boots and dropping the ridiculous hat, and now the folds and wrinkles of the fabric felt imprinted all over his skin. He could see his breath in his room, so he grabbed his usual tunic and trousers and brought them along as he shuffled down the steps into Gaius’ room. His head ached dully and his limbs felt heavy, even though he hadn’t drunk anything the night before.  
  
“There’s porridge on the table,” Gaius said from his workbench, where he was already busy with powdered ginger and peppermint. “I need you to take some indigestion remedy to Uther, and you’d better leave some with the squires as well, they’re sure to need it.”  
  
Merlin looked at the porridge and decided he was really, really not hungry at all.  
  
It didn’t take him long to deliver the doses of medicine; hardly anyone was stirring in the castle. Even the servants were moving slowly. Hauling Arthur’s bathwater was harder than usual, though, and several times as he lugged buckets up the stairs Merlin was stopped by a cough that seemed to take all the air from his chest. It didn’t sound like anything much, fortunately, but it doubled him right over and just added to his feeling of weary, chilly unreality.  
  
“Did you stay up _carousing_ or something?” Arthur asked, as he stepped into the hot water. “You look peaky.”  
  
“No, sire. Just...” Merlin coughed again, trying not to let himself bend forward with it. “Just a chilly night, I had a hard time sleeping.”  
  
“Mm.” Arthur frowned up at him. “Well, you’d better not come on the hunt today, then, I don’t need you taking cold _again_. You can put away my festival clothes and change the bedhangings, that should keep you out of trouble. And you have the evening off, as a Midwinter’s gift.”  
  
“Thank you, sire.” Merlin passed him the soap.  
  
“Well, you could look a little _pleased_ about it,” Arthur grumbled.  
  
“Sorry, just... really tired.”  
  
“Mm.” Arthur soaped his toes. _”Were_ you cold in the Great Hall during the feast?”  
  
Merlin looked at the floor. “...a bit?”  
  
“Don’t lie to me, _Merlin_. Were you cold?”  
  
“Yes,” Merlin admitted.  
  
“That’s because there’s no _meat_ on you. You’re built like a _twig.”_ Arthur sloshed out of the bath and wrapped himself in the towel Merlin held out. “Make sure you get a good share of all the leftovers from last night. And I’ll give you and Gaius a nice haunch of venison tomorrow.”  
  
“You’re very confident,” Merlin said, rubbing Arthur’s back with the towel.  
  
“Why shouldn’t I be? Don’t answer that,” Arthur added quickly.  
  
Merlin chucked and brought out Arthur’s breeches and tunic, then his boots and his long hunting coat. “Have a good time,” he said, when he’d dressed Arthur. “Kill lots of things!”  
  
Arthur snorted and gave him a little punch in the arm before swaggering out the door. Merlin smiled, then looked at the tub and the water on the floor and the wrinkled heap of Arthur’s nightclothes, and sighed.

Merlin kept the fire recklessly high in Arthur’s room, but he couldn’t seem to stay warm. Either he was just on the point of shivering, or (after wrestling the bedhangings down and even more so after wrestling the heavier winter ones up) he was sweating, and for an uncomfortable lot of the time he was both. The cough wasn’t going away - in fact, it was starting to make his chest ache - and there was a heavy pain starting behind his eyes. Finally he just huddled on the hearth rubbing his own arms and firmly telling himself it was only a chill, he wasn’t going to get ill from _one night_ without his scarf, he wasn’t even going to take another cold in the head, he just needed to get warm.  
  
When the noon bell tolled Merlin reluctantly banked the fire and went down to the kitchens by the most sheltered route he could devise. He still wasn’t very hungry, but he ate a pasty, and then a trencher of stew, and felt steadier, even though his headache persisted.  
  
If he never saw the inside of the Great Hall again it would be too soon, so he volunteered to help move barrels of stores back to the cellars. After a few hours of that the sun was already dipping to the battlements, and Merlin decided he could count it as evening, and go home.  
  
Gwen stopped him as he was hurrying across the courtyard. “Merlin! Did Arthur give you the night off? Morgana did too... I mean, she gave me the night off... and I’m having a few people down to my house, if you can come. I mean. You _can_ come. Obviously. But if you’d like? Or, or if you don’t have other plans?”  
  
She looked so eager, and it sounded so pleasant, that Merlin almost said yes, but then the wind blew harder. He ducked his head. “I’m... that sounds really nice, Gwen, but actually I’m not feeling so well and I thought I’d go to bed early...”  
  
“Oh...” Gwen bit her lip. “Of course. I’m sorry. You do look a bit...”  
  
“Arthur said ‘peaky.’” Merlin laughed a little, but it made him cough.  
  
“No! No, I don’t think so, just... pale. A little pale. You should get out of the wind.” She patted his arm. “I’ll save you a honeycake, then.”  
  
“Thanks, Gwen.”  
  
“And tell Gaius!” she called after him.  
  
“Tell...?”  
  
“Tell him you don’t feel well!”  
  
Merlin waved and then turned, hunching his shoulders into the wind.  
  
Gaius was out when he got home, but the cauldron of hot water was ready over the fire as always. Merlin dipped himself out a mugful, and thought about trying to make himself some kind of tisane, but it seemed like too much work. He pulled his stool up close to the hearth and drank his hot water slowly. It felt good going down, especially the way it warmed and soothed his sore chest, but it didn’t stop the chills that kept running through his body. With a sigh of resignation, Merlin shuffled up the steps to his room, where he wearily unbuckled his boots, toed them off, and crawled into his bed.

 

***

 

“Merlin... Merlin.”  
  
“‘m up,” Merlin mumbled, burrowing further under the covers.  
  
“Come on...” A callused hand cupped his cheek. “Wake up for me, Merlin, just for a moment, then you can go back to sleep.”  
  
“No...” Merlin tried to resist when an arm slid under his shoulders. “‘m sleeping, just wanna sleep...” He coughed, which made him wake up enough to realize that Gaius was sitting on the edge of his bed and there were candles all over the room and it was full dark outside. Also, his head was pounding and his chest was burning and even though he was freezing his body was soaked with sweat. “...feel awful...”  
  
“I know,” Gaius said gently. “I’ve made you some willow tea, to bring your fever down, with comfrey and elm and honey for the cough. Here, it’s good and hot. Try just a little bit at first.”  
  
Merlin cautiously sipped from the mug Gaius held for him. Beneath the honey there was a dusty bitterness that puckered his mouth. He shuddered and turned his face away into Gaius’ chest. The feeling of illness was unpleasantly familiar; he could remember nights like this back in Ealdor when he was small, when his mother would tuck him up in her bed and rub his chest with goose grease and sit beside him with a candle and a bowl of gruel. It had been years since he’d taken lung fever, though. He’d thought he’d outgrown it. And he certainly should have outgrown any need to have his eyes prickle at the thought of his mother.  
  
“I know it doesn’t taste pleasant, but you’ll feel better for it. I promise.”  
  
Merlin shook his head and tried to get back down under the covers. “‘m cold...”  
  
“I know,” Gaius repeated, firmly holding him up. “The tea’s warm, though, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yeah...” Merlin hugged the blankets closer, and reluctantly took another sip. “Sorry, too heavy?” He shifted away from Gaius.  
  
“I can manage. Good boy,” Gaius approved, when Merlin drank again. “I’ll bring you another blanket as soon as you’ve finished this. Not too fast,” he cautioned, when Merlin tried to take a gulp. “It might make you sick, since you hardly ate anything today.”  
  
“I ate!” Merlin protested. Then he thought about it and realized that he hadn’t, not since noon.  
  
“You should have told me you weren’t feeling well.”  
  
“Thought I was just chilled...” Merlin took a sip to try to head off a cough, but it didn’t work. Tea came out his nose when he coughed, which stung terribly and made him cough more. He tried to wipe his nose with the back of his hand; Gaius sighed and rubbed his nose with a handkerchief. “Sorry,” Merlin muttered. “ Woke you up?”  
  
“It’s not that late.” Gaius tucked the handkerchief under Merlin’s pillow, then offered him the mug again.  
  
“I can hold it...”  
  
“It’s all right. Keep your hands warm.”  
  
Merlin subsided, leaning against Gaius again as he slowly drank the hot medicine. By the time he reached the bottom of the mug, his head ached less, but felt heavier. He was glad to sink back on his pillow and to have Gaius tuck him in. “Sorry,” Merlin repeated.  
  
“Shh,” Gaius said sternly. “Get some sleep.”  
  
Merlin didn’t feel like he slept, but he knew he dreamed. He dreamed that his room was being turned into a banqueting hall, with people coming and going bearing huge trays. He dreamed that Arthur sent him to comb through the rushes from the floor to find something impossibly small - a ring, a button, a needle. He kept opening his eyes to flickering candlelight and then falling back into dreams. The night seemed endless; it was a shock when he opened his eyes to thin winter sunlight, and even more of a shock to find Sir Leon standing over his bed.

“Sorry I’m late,” Merlin said, or tried to say, and sat up, or tried to sit up. His voice was nothing but a croak and his body seemed heavy and hard to control. When he drew breath he felt a crackling in his chest that made him cough an awful, deep, loud, boneshaking cough. It didn’t exactly hurt, but it took all his attention.  
  
“Shh.” Gaius pressed a soothing hand to his forehead. “You’re not in trouble, Merlin, but you’re not going to attend Arthur today.”  
  
Merlin looked up at Sir Leon, who seemed particularly tall, and had a serious look on his face. He looked anxiously back to Gaius.  
  
“He’s here to help you downstairs. You’ll be more comfortable near the fire,” Gaius said mildly. “And I’m getting too old to be up and down the stairs every time you need a drink. Much better this way.”  
  
“Can you put an arm around my neck, Merlin?” Sir Leon asked, a little too loudly, as he bent down.  
  
Merlin nodded and obediently hooked his arms around Leon’s shoulders. Leon gathered him up, along with all his blankets, as if he weighed no more than a kitten. Embarrassed, Merlin held himself stiff and took shallow breaths to be sure he wouldn’t start coughing again right in Sir Leon’s ear.  
  
In the main room the bed Gaius used for patients had been moved close to the fire and made up with a slanted board raising the pillows. Sir Leon set Merlin down gently. It was certainly much, much warmer there, but somehow Merlin could only feel the heat on his skin. It didn’t touch the ice in his bones.  
  
“Bring the screen around, to block the draft,“ Gaius ordered, as he set a hot brick at Merlin’s feet and began firmly tucking him in. His voice was only a bit more gruff than usual, but there was a tightness around his mouth that Merlin hadn’t often seen. It was his worried-physician expression.  
  
“Gaius...” Merlin started.  
  
“Hush,” Gaius looked at him sternly. “Thank you, Sir Leon, and my thanks to Prince Arthur as well for giving you leave.”  
  
“Of course. You’re welcome.” Sir Leon looked down at Merlin with his own worried gaze. “Rest well, Merlin.”  
  
“I will,” Merlin said. “I’m really all right, I just...” the cough seized him again and cut him off.  
  
“Shhh,” Gaius repeated. He nodded a farewell to Sir Leon and sat down beside Merlin. “Talking makes the cough worse. Just lie quietly. I’ll make you some more tea, and there’s a poultice ready for your chest. You’ll be able to sleep better after those.”  
  
“Don’t worry,” Merlin whispered. “I’ve had lung fever before and it didn’t hurt me. When I was small I had it every winter, until mum made me...” he coughed, and coughed, and drew a triangle across his chest to finish the sentence.  
  
“Your kerchiefs?” Gaius asked. “Wise woman.” He tucked Merlin in again and rested a hand on his forehead. “No matter what Arthur wants you to wear, you should keep your kerchief on in winter. I’ll speak to him about it.”  
  
“Don’t...” Merlin protested, then subsided when Gaius glared. He wriggled further under the pile of blankets, and reflected that it was _probably_ less embarrassing to be twitted about being delicate than to be carried around like a kitten. Probably. But for _Arthur_ to think he was feeble... if Arthur decided Merlin shouldn’t come with him when he was hunting, or questing, or fighting... that would not be good.  
  
The poultice was a stinking, viscous mess of onions and mustard and chaff, but it was _hot_ and that felt wonderful, even though the steam from it made Merlin cough more. Gaius tucked him in firmly and told him to sleep. Merlin didn’t think he would - it was _morning_ \- but soon he felt himself slipping into a doze.

Sleeping should have made the hours pass quickly, but they seemed slow to Merlin, possibly because he couldn’t seem to sleep either deeply or for long. He’d never noticed - he’d never been around to notice - how many people came and went from Gaius’ workroom in a day. Or how loudly the door banged, and the wind whistled in the hallway outside. Or how sharp Gaius could be with people. “WILL you keep your voice down! I have a patient!” he snapped, more than once.  
  
He didn’t remember the cough being so bad when he’d been sick back in Ealdor. The more he coughed, the more parts of him hurt - first his head, then his chest, then his stomach and his sides. He started to tense up with dread when he felt another spasm coming, and that just made it worse.  
  
Gaius made more willow tea, this time with rose hips as well as honey to mask the taste of the medicinal herbs, and left Merlin to drink it while he dealt with another visitor. Merlin was ashamed to find it was hard to keep the cup from shaking in his hands. When Gaius came back he took the empty cup from Merlin’s slack grip and rested a hand on his forehead for a long moment. It felt good, and Merlin was ridiculously worn out by the tiny exertion of drinking. He closed his eyes.  
  
Sometime later he woke up coughing, curled on his side with the spasm, with a smaller hand pressed to his back. ”Merlin!” Gwen said reproachfully, fussing with the covers. “You’re really ill.”  
  
“Didn’t think I would be,” Merlin whispered. He rolled back onto the pillows and let Gwen pull the covers up to his chin. Gaius must have taken the poultice off, fortunately. Otherwise it would have been all over the bed.  
  
“Shh, you’re not supposed to talk, Gaius said. You can have a little honeycake, though, if you like? Or something hot? There’s tea.”  
  
Merlin shook his head.  
  
“You can go back to sleep, I didn’t mean to wake you.”  
  
He shrugged. “Party?” he whispered.  
  
“It was nice.” Gwen pulled up a stool and sat down. “Agnes from the kitchens came, and her brother Gavin, he’s with the guard, and my neighbor Hannah. I was sorry you weren’t there, though. Today it’s back to the usual tasks. Just with more cleaning. And I think some people stayed drunk all yesterday. This morning Morgana’s been amusing herself dropping her bracelets near anyone who looks pale. They usually look like the noise is going to kill them.”  
  
“Arthur?” Merlin felt the ominous shifting in his chest and willed it away.  
  
“He really doesn’t drink very much, I think after the hunt yesterday he’s more interested in boasting. He does look a little shabby without you to wash his socks.” Gwen smiled. “You’ll have to get well soon.”  
  
“I will,” Merlin insisted, and then ruined it with a series of coughs that made him hurt all over.  
  
“Shhh,” Gwen got up. “I think you’d better have some of this.” She unwrapped a covered jar and poured some steaming liquid into Merlin’s cup. She carefully bundled the jar up again before holding the cup out for him. “It’s really strong, I think... Gaius was brewing it specially when I came in.”  
  
It was strong, and so bitter Merlin almost spat it out automatically. He got the mouthful down, but shook his head when Gwen tried to give him more. She offered him a bite of the honeycake, and this time he took it, though even that sweetness couldn’t take away the bitterness of the medicine.  
  
The door creaked open yet again, and then shut. “Gaius?” Morgana called softly. “Gwen?”  
  
“Should I send her away?” Gwen asked softly. Merlin shrugged and shook his head - why shouldn’t she get her sleeping draught just because he was ill? “Around the screen,” Gwen called.  
  
Morgana appeared, wrapped in her white fur, holding a book. “Merlin, I’m so sorry you’re poorly. Though spending as much time with Arthur as you have to would make anyone sick.”  
  
Merlin blinked. “I’m... _ehr’rrm!_ I’m all right... I will be...” He tried to sit up a bit, but Gwen put a hand on his chest and Morgana shook her head.  
  
“I just wanted to come see you, and offer to read to you if you’re bored. Or having trouble sleeping,” she added with a laugh. “You might not like Marie de France, but it’s all I have, and Sir Geoffrey is much too grumpy today to let me take anything from the library.”

“Yes, please,” Merlin croaked, swallowing his embarrassment. It might take his mind off being miserable, and possibly pathetic.  
  
Gwen gave Morgana the stool, and sat down herself on the edge of Merlin’s bed. She offered Merlin the cup again, and he managed a few swallows.  
  
Morgana began to read a tale about a baron in Brittany whose wife discovered he was changing into a wolf for three days out of every week. It was easy to listen to her, and though it didn’t make the cough less painful or the medicine less bitter, it did help Merlin forget about the noises in the hall and in the rest of the room beyond the screen. And, by the time the wife had hidden the baron’s clothes, keeping him from returning to human form, and married a knight, Merlin had finished the cup of medicine.  
  
Morgana’s voice, and the medicine, and the friendly weight of Gwen on the edge of the bed, all combined to push Merlin back towards sleep. Behind his closed eyes, the king Morgana was reading about, who met the wolf-baron and questioned his faithless wife, was Arthur riding out for his hunt. Except Arthur wasn’t curious about a baron who turned into a wolf, he was wondering why Merlin was so far behind. Merlin tried to keep up, but he seemed to be moving as if through porridge, and it was dark and Arthur was far away and Nimueh was waiting.  
  
Then he could see Arthur - Arthur bleeding from the bite of the Questing Beast, Arthur blistered with some magical plague - and Nimueh smiling. ”You were supposed to take me!” Merlin shouted. “I meant for you to take me!”  
  
“A life for a life.” Nimueh said  
  
“No,” Merlin whispered. “Arthur. Arthur...” Arthur didn’t answer. Merlin could feel the magical illness in his own body, but it wasn’t lifting from Arthur. His breath still rasped in his throat and his skin still burned under Merlin’s hand. “No, this isn’t what I meant, it’s not what I meant!”  
  
Then there was a sound of wings, and a smell of smoke, and the voice of the dragon - **”Quiet, young warlock. You’re only dreaming.”**  
  
“No. Arthur...” Merlin couldn’t see anything through the smoke. “He’s dying, I have to stop it!”  
  
The dragon chuckled. **”He is long recovered. Wake up, Merlin, and let me go back to sleep. Gaius will be there soon.”**  
  
Merlin groped desperately through the smoke. The dragon laughed harder. Merlin lunged forward, and woke suddenly when he almost fell out of bed.  
  
Gwen steadied him and caught a damp cloth that had been on his forehead. “Shh,” she said. “Shh, it’s all right,  
  
“The dragon...” Merlin panted. “The dragon was laughing at me...”  
  
Gwen froze. Then she leaned in to press the cloth to his face. “You were dreaming, Merlin,” she told him, her voice very steady.  
  
“There aren’t dragons anymore,” Gaius said, raising an eyebrow at Merlin. “You know that.” He set a shallow pot down on a brazier that had appeared beside the bed, and scattered a handful of dried leaves into it.  
  
“Right. Right,” Merlin agreed, too eagerly. His chest felt heavy, and everything ached, and the room seemed to waver. He felt as if he’d been running. “What’s that?” He pointed at the pot.  
  
“Gwen, could you bring some more peppermint? It’s to make steam, to help you breathe more easily,” Gaius said. “Thank you, your highness,” he added, as Arthur appeared carrying a frame of wood. “Set that around the head of the bed.”  
  
“Arthur!” Merlin exclaimed, forcefully enough that he started to cough again, and couldn’t get his breath between coughs. Gaius left the brazier and helped him sit up, and patted his back firmly until he could breathe evenly again. Merlin shut his eyes and wished he could sink through the floor. When Arthur sat down on the edge of the bed, though, Merlin couldn’t help reaching out to pat at his tunic, to reassure himself that there were no bandages there. “I’m sorry,” Merlin whispered, when Arthur frowned at him. “Sorry, Arthur...”  
  
“Don’t talk, you idiot,” Arthur said roughly, as he spread what looked like canvas over the wooden frame he’d set over the bed.  
  
“...sorry...”  
  
“Don’t. I mean it, Merlin, _don’t.”_ Arthur glanced sideways at Gaius, then put a hand quickly to Merlin’s cheek. “Just get better, all right?”

“Thank you, Gwen. Put that lid on now, please,” Gaius said. “Merlin, there’s a lid for the water pot that has a long spout that will bring the steam into this tent that fits around your head and shoulders. You must just lie quietly and breathe the steam. You can go back to sleep, even, if you like. Just don’t touch the spout; it will get very hot.”  
  
Merlin nodded to show he understood. Gaius and Arthur eased him back onto the pillows; Merlin closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see if Arthur was still frowning. He’d have to explain, when he was better, that he really, really wasn’t a weakling or anything. It had just been so cold...  
  
The canvas rustled into place around him, and in a few minutes there was a hissing as peppermint-scented steam began to fill the tent. Arthur was still sitting beside Merlin, his hand resting absently over Merlin’s own. Merlin lay very still while the soft, indistinct sound of Gwen and Gaius talking moved towards the door, and then Gaius’ heavy steps came back alone.  
  
“It’s at least three days to Ealdor, in this weather,” Arthur said. “Maybe more, coming back, with two.”  
  
“Ealdor?” Gaius asked.  
  
“Yes.” For a moment there were only the sounds of the steam, and the fire, and Merlin’s own breath, and then Arthur said tightly. “His _mother_ , Gaius. Should I go for his mother.”  
  
Merlin’s eyes filled at the thought of his mother (though, maybe, it was partly the steam beading up on his face.) “No,” he whispered. But. Home. And mother.  
  
“There’s no need to look like that, Arthur,” Gaius said. “He’s ill enough, but it’s not that bad.”  
  
“Now,” Arthur said. “Three days ago he was fine. Now he can’t speak without trying to cough his lungs out. In three more days...”  
  
“He’ll likely be much better.”  
  
Arthur stood up, and Merlin just stopped himself from grabbing for his hand. “But if he’s not, it’ll be too late to bring Hunith.”  
  
“Give him a night in the steam,” Gaius said gently. “If he’s worse in the morning, we’ll discuss it.”  
  
“All right,” Arthur said, with bad temper. He sat down again, and Merlin relaxed. “I’m staying here tonight, though,” Arthur added, in his most obnoxiously regal tone.  
  
“Of course, sire, if you wish. Before we settle down for the night, though, could I ask you to do one errand? For Merlin?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Bring me two pails of clean snow. _Clean_ , from the battlements if you can, and the freshest you can find. The four elements are out of balance in him; the teas will have more virtue if I make them with water that has air mingled with it.”  
  
“You don’t need to lecture, Gaius. I’ll get whatever you need.” Arthur touched Merlin’s hand again, then slowly stood up. “I’ll be back soon.”  
  
Merlin felt colder with Arthur gone, and it was hard to get comfortable. He turned on one side, then to the other, tangling himself in the blankets, and started to cough when he tried to straighten them. Gaius turned back one of the flaps of the tent. “Hmm,” he said, when he saw Merlin was awake. “You heard him, then. He’ll be back soon.”  
  
“I... that’s not...” Merlin sighed. “Right. I’m not feeble,” he added, as Gaius fixed the covers for him.  
  
“Of course not.” Gaius leaned into the tent and hung a crystal from one corner of the frame, a feather from another, and a stone from a third, then carefully arranged the folds of canvas to hide them.  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“Just some weights to keep the tent steady. Hush,” he said, when Merlin coughed again. “We’ll talk more about it when you’re better. Now, _sleep.”_ He patted the blankets firmly where they lay over Merlin’s chest and tucked the tent closed once more. Then, very softly, he said _”Geh'ælan stan!”_ The crystal flashed.  
  
“I saw that,” Merlin said  
  
“Hush,” Gaius repeated. “And don’t try any of your own. It’s dangerous when you’re ill.”  
  
“Won’t,” Merlin agreed, closing his eyes and breathing in the steam. It did feel good in his sore chest. He lay quietly, waiting for Arthur to come back.

 

***

 

The hours passed oddly after that. It seemed to Merlin that he lay unsleeping for half the night, too cold and aching and breathless to rest, but at the same time it felt as if he were never awake, only lurching from dream to dream.  
  
Arthur had ordered Merlin to stay behind, and had ridden off to fight some terrible beast, and Merlin was tracking him through a dark, frozen forest full of bandits and wolves and bandits that were wolves and knights of Camelot following Arthur’s orders to keep Merlin from following, and he had to build a bridge, in the dark, from icy sheaves of thatch that cut his hands when he tried to bind them together...  
  
“Merlin? I don’t know if you’re awake... I’m going to untuck the blankets just for a minute, to put some more hot bricks at your feet. You’ll be warmer then. There. Is that better? That’ll be better.”  
  
He was crossing the lake to the Isle of the Blessed, but this time the boat did not move of its own accord, and Merlin had to row until something snatched one of the oars, and then he poled with the other, but there were great gaps between the boards at his feet, and the water rushed in, thick as stew with mud and ice, pulling him under, crushing his legs and his chest and his arms...  
  
“It’s just me. Shh. Merlin. It’s just me, it’s Arthur, don’t struggle. Shh. Don’t. You’re getting yourself tangled again. Shh. Let me fix it.”  
  
He was in the dungeon, in the dark, chained to the wall, with a jug of water just out of reach, and his mouth and throat burning for a drink, and his whole body wracked with coughing that seemed like it would tear his chest apart...  
  
“This’ll help. Just a sip, Merlin, come on. It’s not the nasty willow stuff, it’s just chamomile and honey. Good. Little more. Good.”  
  
He was in the courtyard, tied to a stake, and there were drums, and Arthur was on the balcony wearing Uther’s crown and Uther’s gloves and Uther’s freezing stare as he raised a hand and a torch came forward, and Merlin went sick with fear (what would it be like to die?) and Arthur shouted “LIAR!” and Merlin cried out “I’m sorry! Arthur! I’m sorry! I didn’t know what to do!”  
  
“Shhh. Don’t worry about it. It’s all right. Shh.” Awkwardly, but very gently, Arthur blotted the tears from Merlin’s face.  
  
“You don’t know...” Merlin gasped out.  
  
“I don’t care. Whatever you think you’ve done wrong.” Arthur steadied Merlin’s shoulders while he coughed. “Don’t worry about it. That’s an order. I know you’re bad at them, but try, all right?”  
  
“...right...”  
  
“I need to get more water. I’ll be back in a minute. I’m not angry with you, Merlin.”  
  
 **”I told you,”** the dragon said. **”The half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole.”**  
  
“I’m not speaking to you,” Merlin said. He knew he was in Gaius’ rooms, with the steam hissing by his head and Arthur banging about between the fireplace and the brazier, but at the same time he seemed to be lying among dark, searingly hot rocks, in a deep cavern, with the dragon’s ancient eyes overhead.  
  
 **”As you wish,”** the dragon said. Merlin had the feeling it was laughing at him again, though he heard nothing. The dragon’s eyes flashed in the gloom, and the rocks grew even hotter, baking Merlin’s skin. **”You may find that harder than you think. As I told you, we, too, make a whole.”**  
  
Merlin-in-the-bed closed his eyes; Merlin-in-the-cavern shook his head. “Why are you burning me?” he demanded.  
  
 **”You are healing yourself, warlock, burning the fever out.”** The dragon cocked its head. **”I am only showing you how.”**  
  
“I don’t want your help!”  
  
 **”Then why did you come for it? Your dreams are your wishes as well as your fears, Merlin.”**  
  
“This isn’t a dream. It feels different.”  
  
 **”There are many kinds of dreams.”** The dragon rose up, its chain clanking against the rocks, and the rush of its wings fanned away the stifling heat. For the first time in days Merlin was neither cold nor hot, and he sank at last into a dreamless sleep.

 

***

 

Someone was snoring. Very loudly.  
  
Merlin opened his eyes and blinked up at the lumps in the canvas where Gaius had hung his charms. He felt limp and hollow, but nothing hurt. He stretched a little bit, cautiously, under the comfortable weight of the bedclothes, and his stomach and ribs protested the same way his body did after a day of running after Arthur, but still, nothing really hurt. His whole body felt sticky with drying sweat, but he wasn’t overheated or chilled, only pleasantly warm.  
  
The snoring came again. Merlin drew one hand up under the covers, moving slowly at first, then more quickly when he found how easily his muscles obeyed him. He pulled a flap of the tent aside and peered out into the room.  
  
Arthur was sitting on the floor beside the bed, his head thrown back, snoring. He wore his red tunic with the sleeves turned up and the laces loose at the neck, and his hair stood out in all directions as if he’d run wet hands through it. Gaius sat in a chair between Arthur’s feet and the fireplace. He had his small mortar in his lap and the pestle in his hand, but he seemed almost asleep as well. Everything in the room seemed brilliantly clear, all the details picked out as if in a tapestry. Merlin felt like he’d been looking through wool for days, and now he could really see everything - the fraying cuff of Gaius’ sleeve, the lock of hair standing straight out over Arthur’s left ear, the shadow of the cauldron on the back of the fireplace.  
  
Merlin felt a strange rumbling at the bottom of his ribs. He held his breath and put his free hand over the spot, afraid he would start coughing, but nothing happened, even when he let his breath out and in. Then he realized that the feeling wasn’t in his chest at all, but his belly.  
  
“Gaius?” he asked, but no sound came out. He cleared his throat. Gaius stirred, rubbed his eyes, and started to move the pestle. Merlin tried again. “Gaius? Can I have something to eat?” Talking felt strange, as if his very voice were tired, but it felt good, like the stretching.  
  
Gaius’ head snapped around. He stared at Merlin for a moment, then thrust the mortar aside with a clatter that made Arthur jolt awake, letting out one final snort. Merlin wanted to laugh, but didn’t quite dare, for fear that would bring back the awful wracking cough.  
  
Arthur stared, too. His face was pale, and his eyes looked smudged with weariness. “Merlin?” He lifted a hand but stopped short of reaching for him. “...you’re awake,” he said.  
  
“Hello,” Merlin gave an embarrassed little wave when they kept just looking at him. “Is it anything like breakfast time? Because I think... I think I’m hungry.”  
  
Arthur laughed at that, looking from Merlin to Gaius and back again, the color coming back into his cheeks. “You’re hungry? Gaius... he’s _hungry!”_  
  
Gaius levered himself up from his chair. “Let me have a look at you,” he said briskly.  
  
Arthur had to help Merlin sit up, but Merlin’s head didn’t ache or spin when he moved, and he didn’t shiver even in the moment between the blankets falling away and Arthur snatching them up to cover him again Gaius felt his forehead carefully, then pressed an ear to Merlin’s back and ordered him to breathe, and breathe again. That did make Merlin cough, but it didn’t tear him apart inside, even though the sound was loud and wet.  
  
“He sounds different,” Arthur said angrily.  
  
Merlin shook his head. “It doesn’t hurt, though!”  
  
Gaius straightened up and nudged Merlin back against the pillows. “It’s loosening,” Gaius said, squeezing Merlin’s shoulder. “The matter in his lungs is starting to break up.”  
  
“That’s good?” Arthur’s frown lightened.  
  
“That’s very good.” Gaius cupped Merlin’s cheek in one hand. “You’re getting better.” His smile wobbled slightly, and his eyes were very bright in a way that made Merlin’s throat ache. Gaius looked as if he’d been up for days - they both did, really. Arthur was sitting on the edge of the bed, his shoulders sagging, his head turned away. Merlin nudged him hesitantly with his knee. Arthur gave his leg a gentle punch in response.  
  
“Does that mean I can eat something?” Merlin asked, as much to lighten the moment as to hear the answer.  
  
Gaius laughed. “You may have some gruel. And then we’ll see.”

 

***

 

Gaius kept Merlin in the sickbed by the fire for two more days, eating gruel or bread soaked in wine, and drinking what felt like whole cauldrons of medicinal tea. And sleeping. Merlin hadn’t known he could sleep so much. It was hard to mind, though, when every time he woke up he felt stronger, and his cough bothered him a little bit less.  
  
On the second morning, Gaius had the tent packed away, and in the evening two pages drew Merlin a deep, scalding-hot bath with lavender oil and rosemary leaves in it. Merlin scrubbed his arms, his chest, and his scalp until they tingled, shedding the last of the dried fever-sweat and the memory of the miserable nights. Then, finally, he was allowed to sit up at the table, well-bundled in a clean nightshirt, three pairs of socks, an old robe of Gaius’, a cap with earflaps, and two blankets, while the pages hauled away the tub and stripped the bed.  
  
“Can I sleep in my room tonight?” Merlin asked.  
  
Gaius shook his head, covering a yawn. “I want you by the fire. In a few days, if the weather warms a bit, you can have your room back.” He drew clean sheets out of a chest and moved slowly over to the bed.  
  
“Gaius, leave it. You’re tired. Can’t I... or, well, the pages...?”  
  
“They’re needed in the great hall tonight. And Uther’s sent for me to come to the council room, and you shouldn’t be sitting up all the time until I get back.”  
  
A soft knock came from the open door, and Arthur stepped hesitantly in, carrying a covered tray. “Gaius, sorry, my father’s asking for you in council...”  
  
“Of course. Just a moment...” Gaius began to spread the sheets. Merlin met Arthur’s eyes and jerked his head towards Gaius. Arthur frowned. Merlin looked pointedly, then mouthed HELP HIM.  
  
“Oh. Oh!” Arthur put the tray down hastily. “Gaius, I’ll do that. And I’ll see that Merlin gets back to bed.”  
  
“Oh... thank you, sire, that would be a kindness. He needs some supper, too.”  
  
“I brought the venison I promised you both - is he well enough for that?”  
  
Merlin squirmed while Gaius studied him for a moment. “I think so. Don’t eat too fast, though, Merlin.”  
  
“I won’t,” Merlin agreed. “Don’t let Uther keep you late. You need to rest.”  
  
“Hush.” Gaius cuffed him very gently as he passed to collect his cloak. “I want you asleep when I get home.”  
  
“I’ll see to it,” Arthur said.  
  
“I can get myself to sleep,” Merlin protested, as Gaius shut the door.  
  
“Nobody said you couldn’t.” Arthur uncovered the tray and set a plate of roasted venison and potatoes in front of Merlin. His hand hovered over the plate for a moment. “Here, I’ll cut...”  
  
“Arthur!” Merlin grabbed the dish and pulled it closer. “I can _feed_ myself, too.”  
  
“You should do it more often, then.” Arthur said.  
  
Merlin was ready to protest more, but the meat smelled so good, especially after days of gruel, that it distracted him. He had to work hard not to gobble the tender, rich meat and the juice-soaked potatoes. Arthur didn’t seem as interested in his own plate, though he kept busily cutting small pieces of venison with his strong pale hands. Merlin kept glancing up to Arthur’s face and then looking away. “H-how was the hunt?” he said at last. “It, um, you had luck. Obviously.”  
  
“It’s not luck, it’s skill,” Arthur retorted. “We had to track this buck a long way, and when we first got close enough, Lord Andrew spooked it and set us back by another two hours. And then, when we finally got it, I had to let Sir Matthias take the killing blow.”  
  
“Well, it’s delicious. Thank you.”  
  
“Don’t mention it. Eat up.” Arthur waved his knife at Merlin’s plate.  
  
“I’d like to go hunting with you next time.”  
  
“What? Merlin, you _hate_ hunting. You get all quiet and miserable. And _cold._ ”  
  
Merlin flushed. “Well. I, um, it’s true, it’s not my favorite, but I... I’m not too _delicate_ or anything. I won’t... I’m not...” He floundered when he saw Arthur staring at him. “I’m sorry I made so much trouble by getting ill. It won’t happen again. I, I can do my job.”

“Is that what you were so worried about when you were out of your head?”  
  
Well. Close enough. Merlin shrugged and poked at his last potato.  
  
“Merlin. Does being bitten by the Questing Beast mean I should never pick up a sword again?”  
  
“Of course not.” Merlin looked up, frowning.  
  
“Then why do you think you should get out of being my servant just because you caught lung fever? That doesn’t even make _sense.”_ Arthur pushed his plate away. “I’m finished - do you want any of this?”  
  
“No...” Merlin looked longingly at the venison.  
  
Arthur sighed and moved it onto Merlin’s plate. “You do have to promise you’ll put on something warm underneath the next time the servants have to wear livery, though. Or I _will_ sack you.”  
  
“I promise,” Merlin agreed, with his mouth full.  
  
Arthur shook his head at him. “Right. I suppose I’d better get your bed ready.” He pushed back his chair and went to pick up the sheet Gaius had left half-unfolded.  
  
“Tuck the bottom end in first,” Merlin suggested, after a long moment. “No. Turn it... you need to put the short end of the sheet at the short end of the bed.”  
  
“There are two short ends.”  
  
“Well, pick one, then. And tuck it... no... you’re making it bunchy.”  
  
 _”Bunchy?”_ Arthur tugged on the sheet and sat down hard on the floor when it came suddenly free. Merlin laughed until he coughed, then coughed and laughed together until tears came to his eyes. “Yes, Merlin, that’s perfectly appropriate, to _mock_ the _crown prince_ ,” Arthur huffed, picking himself up and stuffing the edges of the sheet back under the mattress. “I might sack you anyway, you know.”  
  
“...Still.... bunchy...” Merlin said, pointing.  
  
“You’re very fussy.”  
  
“I know you’ve never made a bed before, but you get into one every night. How can you not have noticed the way it works? The blankets need to be tucked in at the foot.” Merlin coughed again. “‘m all right,” he said, when Arthur looked at him.  
  
“Good.” Arthur tucked the last blanket into place (Merlin refrained from pointing out that it was lopsided) and came to lay a hand on Merlin’s arm. “Come on, time you were settling down.”  
  
Merlin started to protest, but a big yawn stopped him. He handed Arthur the blanket that had been draped over his knees and held the other one around his shoulders as he stood up. He was steady on his feet, but Arthur kept a hand on his back for the few steps over to the bed.  
  
“Is your hair still wet?” Arthur asked. “Keep the cap on, then.”  
  
Merlin sighed a bit, but obediently tugged the flaps down more firmly over his ears before he slipped off Gaius’ robe and climbed between the clean sheets.  
  
Arthur tucked him in firmly. “I’ll be here, if you need anything. And don’t say it - if I go, I’ll have to join the Council and they’re looking at records of tribute, and father is worried half the gifts are magical. I’d rather be here.”  
  
“Thank you,” Merlin said. “All the same.” He turned on his side, nestling into the comfortable bed, and watched Arthur settle into Gaius’ chair by the fire. “It’s nice having you here.”  
  
“Well, next time just ask me, don’t get yourself ill.” Arthur’s face softened into what wasn’t quite a smile. “You’re welcome. Sleep well, Merlin.”  
  
“Good night,” Merlin answered, and closed his eyes happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in response to the Merlin Kinkmeme prompt "I always thought Merlin's neckerchief was a fabulous fashion statement and possibly a functional item in his wardrobe (to hide hickeys, of course). But then I thought, okay, why practically would he be wearing one when we hardly see anyone else do so? To keep him warm?"
> 
> http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/14407.html?thread=12781895#t12781895


End file.
